Checking in

Holy crap am I behind! And I'm sorry for that. But life has come together as of late to create sort of a perfect storm of a creativity blocking nature. As in, I've got nothing. No time, no inclination, no ideas, no nothing basically. But for my amazing handful of dedicated readers, I promise I'll be back soon and your dedication will be rewarded!

Post-Journey

So. I know this story is a wee bit different than my previous ones have been. And there are several reasons for that. The first of which is that this whole write a story a week for a year thing is a bit more intense than I thought it would be so I asked dearest Sh to give me an assignment this week (so the first sentence is of his provision, the rest is mine). The second of which is that I had to keep the story under 500 words, also per the assignment. The third of which is that because the starting sentence was so lyrical, I really wanted to just take the opportunity to play with words. I didn’t start off with a character sketch of any kind. I didn’t start off with any kind of situation or plot ideas. I just started playing with really rich language and decided to see where it took me.

Where it took me was not only to this place of dramatic and lovely language, but also an exploration of balance. As the light shifted to shadow, so the he needed a she. As his adoration of her blossomed so did her detestation of him. As the fear typically brings fear, so did that fear transcend into dancing. And so on and so forth. I’m not entirely sure if it worked all the way through, but it was actually a really fun exercise to just let the words come and see where they took me.

What did you think?

Journey

But because the quality of the light had changed from yellowish to gray, he could not. He could not encapsulate the feeling in the room. He could not step back from her or, more exactly, from the reflection of her. The light shifted to shadow and took the breath out of the whispers that had just been sent across the room in an effort to bend her ear and her heart towards him once more. The shadow skittered across the ceiling chasing the last bits of illumination out the window that had been purposefully propped open to give the sun an exit. The shadow that had at first stunned into silence now wrapped around the limbs and trunks in an embrace. Giving safety, allowing investigation. Gray fingers enticed her towards him, lured her towards his presence. His singular presence in the room full of aimlessness. Aimless wandering in the dark, aimless giggling at the chance brushes of hips and fingers. But he had not moved since the shadow had displaced the light. His gaze had focused on where he had left her, on where he had aimed his whispers. His intentions were rooted in the colors that had splashed through the crystals nestled in the nook at the base of her throat. Those colors had crept into her eyes as she smiled. That smile that had disappeared when she’d seen him across the room. But now, now she was wending her way toward him, deliberately choosing steps that would take her away from the others now waltzing across the wooden floor, in the dark. He could feel her approach and renewed his commitment to stillness. The one point of stillness in the whirl of movement. The movement that stirred the air across his neck and her wrists. The air they were now sharing. Sharing in a moment of anticipation. His eyes had adjusted to the dim and focused on the line from her cheekbones down her jaw. She caught a glimpse of the sheen across his teeth as his lips pulled into a grin. He was starting to draw comfort from her shadow being when the loud crack of her palm across his face ushered the light back in with great haste. Opening his eyes after a breath and a moment to re-grow accustomed, he found that he could.

Sorry, sorry, sorry...

Ok, well, as you can tell, my story for this week is late, late, late. Sorry about that. But I've had some family stuff arise that has kept me from my laptop and away from writing for right now. But I promise as soon as I can have time to sit and finish my story, I'll do it. I promise. Thanks for hanging in with me.

Playing and Editing

I had two points of inspiration for last week’s story: 1) self help books and 2) wanting to play with emotion and character interaction a bit. I’m fairly sure I paid tribute to both of those points, but I’m not at all sure I did it well. Which is fine, not every single story is going to be good. But it was pretty fun to write (except for the migraine I had while writing it) and I liked and could relate to the characters.

One thing I wish I could get better at is editing after I’m done with a story. I’m having an extremely hard time going back over the stories once I’ve finished them and wanting to do much of anything with them. This whole process of writing a story a week is pretty intense and also kicking my ass, which I naively was not expecting. So by the time I get done with a story, I’m done with it. Other than fixing typos and cutting obviously unneeded segments, I don’t want much else to do with it other than to post the sucker and move on to thinking about the next week. I would love to figure out a way to detach from the story a bit so I could lend a good editorial eye to it before I publish it. Maybe as I go further along I’ll get better at that, but I’d love any suggestions you might have on that point.

For this week, my dear friend sh has given me an assignment (which I asked for) – to start a story with a specific sentence and keep it to 500 words or less. So that’s where I’ll be headed this week. See you again in a few days.

Once Upon a Time, In a Bookstore...

The wind all but blew Tabitha into the small bookstore. Flyers in a rainbow of colors fluttered wildly in protest as the wind tore against their thumb tack bonds on the corkboard by the door. Leaves scurried into the store as she quickly shut the door behind her. She turned around slowly trying to remove the long strands of hair that had found their way into her mouth and eyes and resituate her scarf. Smiling in apology to the assorted customers that looked at her now, Tabitha tried to get her bearings.

Weaving her way through the huge wooden bookshelves she caught sight of a worn arm chair tucked into a nook towards the back of the store. Sitting down heavily, grateful for its refuge, she rested her hands on the thick arms trailing her fingers softly over the balding green corduroy

Tabitha opened her eyes slowly, pulling focus on the titles surrounding her. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the first one from the shelf that caught her eye: “If You’re Sad and You Know It, Clap Your Hands.”

“Back again, eh Tabby?” The voice had come out of nowhere, but it was familiar enough by this point that it didn’t make her jump.

“Yeah, so? “ She tried desperately to make her voice sound belligerent, but couldn’t help punctuating with a smile.

Tabitha looked up and locked eyes with a man who looked like he belonged on an Ivy League college campus somewhere. He gave the impression of being a solid block of brown. Tousled brown curls faded down into his brown cardigan which melded into his brown tweed pants. It was only his eyes and his shoes that gave him away. Bookending his appearance with bright blue and orange.

She hated that she had to be in this section and he had come to know this fact well.

“Come to make fun of me again Bryce?” Again, she couldn’t quite keep the smile out of her voice.

He chuckled, “Me? I’m entirely too nice a guy to make fun of you Tabby, you know that. But you’ve not started clapping yet, so perhaps you’re looking for a different book? How about this one?” Without really looking he grabbed another book off the shelf and handed it to her.

"When Depression is Your Friend: How To Bilk Sympathy From Friends, Family, and Co-Workers” Her eyes narrowed as she read the title. “Oh, so now you’re trying to insinuate something instead of just being obnoxious?”

“Ah, you give me far too much credit Tab. I’m just here to help you wade through the next section of books. Maybe one of these weeks, you’ll actually find what you’re looking for.”

This time she had no trouble keeping the laughter out of her voice as she lowered her eyes to shield herself from his vision. “That’s just wishful thinking at this point Bryce,” she muttered.

He pulled the book from her hand and let it drop softly on the fluffy armchair, simultaneously reaching for another. This one he read aloud, “’From Delinquent to Diva: How to get your Bling on a Budget!’” He managed to deliver this title with such seriousness that she could not help but laugh out loud.

She collected herself again and paused to look at him. Tabitha found that he was looking back at her with such compassion in his eyes that she was momentarily stunned. How could she keep doing this every week? Coming back to this same bookstore, looking for some semblance of sanity. Looking for anything to latch on to, something to give her a way to make it through the oversaturation of her life. Where do you start when all you’re looking for is the perfect sentence to make it all make sense? Because until recently when ever morning held a tidal wave of sensory overload, it had all been manageable. Sure she was snarky and bitchy and wielded her words like a whip, but it was manageable. And she found that mostly, people loved her for her quirks rather than not.

For the last several months, every Saturday, she had been at this bookstore. Looking for the perfect words, the perfect way to organize those words and the perfect intonation to them to say to herself over and over again so that all doubt would be stamped out of existence. So she could be left with the confidence and purpose she had known for so much of her life.

Bryce had emerged from the shadows one afternoon, his blue eyes playful and his orange shoes the very tip of his idiosyncrasy iceberg. He had handed her a book, this one carefully chosen, which she took with some reticence, but still with a glimmer of hope. She had ended up on the floor from laughing so hard after that one: “If Life’s a Bowl of Cherries, You’re Not Drinking Enough Manhattans.”

And every Saturday since then he had found her, in this bookstore, in this section, in this chair. So far he had helped her get through most of the self help section of the bookstore. She had begun to wonder what was going to happen when they ran out of books. Maybe they could move on to the travel section in the next row. But then she’d have to leave her chair. Maybe she’d just start over.

Just as Tabitha had settled herself back into the chair, swinging her legs over one broad arm, Bryce arrived with a whole armful of books and plopped them in her lap with a smug look of self satisfaction on his face.

“Wha-?”

“Well, I’m tired of this hunting and pecking routine you’ve got going. So I thought I’d introduce a little efficiency to the process by bringing you several at once.” He looked so proud of himself that she grimaced in response.

“No? Hmmmm…”

He grabbed a handful of books for himself and sat down on the floor in front of the chair and started going through each one, reading it aloud and then tossing it over his shoulder:

“If You're Waiting For Your Prince To Come, All You'll Get are Frogs"

“Go from Doormat to Dreamgirl in Five Easy Steps!”

“Turn Dump City into Trump City!”

“Get a Life, Not a Job!”

“I Moved Your Cheese Because You’re Too Fat”

“Learn How to Change the Locks: When Loving the One You’re With Just Isn’t Enough”

“Are you Sure It’s Not Time To Think About Settling?”

“Fairytales Do End: It’s Called Adultery”

She started to protest but she was caught so completely by the books titles that she just sat there getting buried deeper by the books he was so nonchalantly throwing over his shoulder directly into her lap. He finished his pile of books and turned to look back at her with a huge smile on his face. It took her a moment to realize that she was sobbing. Tears oozing down her cheeks as if they were being squeezed out of a toothpaste tube. His smile vanished.

“Oh, Tabby, I’m so sorry! I was just trying to keep you laughing. To show you how silly these books are. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He was facing her now, kneeling at eye level with her, his face so apologetic and earnest that she had a hard time looking away from him. In a split second she just decided she didn’t care anymore. In one brief moment she released the strangle hold she had on her life, her emotions and just let it all go. Her sobbing increased as she fell to the side awkwardly, trusting that he would catch her before she toppled, books and all, onto her face onto the floor. He did and she leaned heavily into him.

She let it all gush out of her. As if her tear ducts were some central line to her own private reservoir of feeling. She had committed fully to just letting it all come now. Letting herself cry for as long as she needed it. But then, out of nowhere, she found herself laughing. He tensed underneath her, thinking perhaps that she was renewing her overflow of sadness. Suddenly though, those tears of pain and loss and fear were converted to tears of laughter, joy and discovery. She took one deep breath and let out the loudest laugh she’d ever heard or uttered. Pulling back from his arms to meet his confused eyes, she continued to giggle.

“Are you ok?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m hungry”

His face melted into a smile at this response as he cupped her cheek for a moment. Bryce stood up slowly to give Tabitha a chance to regain her own balance and then gently pulled her from underneath the hill of books under which she was buried.

She laced her fingers into his as she met his eyes.

“I like your shoes.”

They both grinned and made their way back out into the wind.

Delays, Delays, Delays

I got laid flat by a massive migraine this afternoon and this week's story is still in final editing stages, so it will be up by tomorrow. Saturday by the latest.

You know, just in case you were wondering...